“Have you heard the news?”
“What news?”
“Teresa Mallison. You haven’t heard? Oh, I am glad to be the one to tell you. Engaged!” The speaker’s voice would swell to a note of triumph, she would fall back a step the better to contemplate the surprise, the excitement, on the face of the listener.
“Engaged! Teresa? Not—”
“Yes! Yes!” Here the informant would execute a little prance of excitement. “It is,” Captain Peignton. Isn’t it exciting? The most interesting engagement for years. Mrs Mallison is beaming.
The listener would enthuse in her turn, sometimes wholeheartedly, sometimes with an undercurrent of sadness or regret. Mothers of aging daughters knew a vicarious pang, the daughters themselves smiled brilliantly and ached within, but the general note was praise of Teresa, pride in Teresa, an assumption that Teresa had accomplished a laudable work, and had raised herself a head and shoulders above her fellows. Such is the general opinion in English country towns, where the educated females of the population exceed the male by a round ten to one. As for Dane himself, he was the passive member in the transaction. He had been “caught.” Teresa had “caught” him. It was said in no spirit of unkindness, but it was said all the same. Every voice said it, every smile, every nod of the head and knowing arch of the brow. Clever Teresa. The best match in the town!
Grizel, like most other matrons, heard the news outside the grocer’s shop in the High Street. The night before Martin had sighed over the grocer’s bill, and that sigh had sent his wife speeding out of the house by eleven o’clock the next morning, fired with determination to become a model housekeeper forthwith, and deliver her own orders in person. Interviewed before starting, Cook acknowledged that Robson’s was high, but had no further explanation to offer than that “it did run up!” The young man called every morning, and there was always “Something,” but Chumley matrons had repeatedly warned Grizel that that young man should not call. It was death and destruction to let cooks order at the door. Orders should be given in the shop, and delivered later in the van. Grizel had hesitated, and advanced a counter-plea.
“But the van-man is quite old, and Orders is such an attractive youth. It’s hard on poor Cook!” But now Martin had frowned, and the lines had showed in his forehead, and she could have found it in her heart to imprison Cook in a nunnery for life.
Mr Robson, senior, hurried forward to attend in person to a customer of distinction, and took advantage of the occasion to direct her attention to a number of new and delectable goods, positively the latest things on the market. Fruits preserved whole, and so cleverly as to be hardly distinguishable from fresh; glass shapes of rare and costly edibles, all ready for the table; sauces, condiments, appetising novelties in biscuits. Grizel displayed the liveliest interest, tasted, with relish, whenever a taste was practicable, and ordered half-dozens of each novelty in turn. Mr Robson pointed out that there was a reduction upon taking half a dozen, and Grizel had set her heart on reduction. The size of the bill gave her a disagreeable shock, however, and she left the shop feeling decidedly crestfallen, to fall into the arms of Mrs Gardiner and Mrs Evans, who were standing just outside.
The sight of Mrs Beverley emerging from a provision store, like any ordinary prosaic housekeeper, was surprising enough to put the subject of the latest engagement into the background while the good ladies greeted her, and stealthily examined the details of her toilette.